


Cocktail Morning

by ThunderCant



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alcohol, Bathing/Washing, Loneliness, M/M, Off-screen fucking, brief mention of a penis, idk what's going on here, shameless fluff, some truly incredible jokes about dicks, stinky boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderCant/pseuds/ThunderCant
Summary: One day, Chris would learn to stop trusting Leon's huge boyfriend when he said he 'knew a great place'.
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	Cocktail Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to get Sabu through a busy day and she demanded that I upload it or she would haunt me :((((

Chris woke up feeling like his eyeballs had been curried, his head had been drilled, and his body had been slammed in the good and bad way. At one point in his life it would have meant he'd drank way too much. Nowadays, it could have been the result of a horrible BOW attack and drinking way too much to cope.

But that was besides the point, because while the night before was hazy, he was sure that there hadn't been anything with tentacles. Or at least, if there had been tentacles, they were the sexy kind. He groaned and opened his eyes, taking stock- not his house, red room, black garments that were barely garments scattered around... Oh, yeah. That explained it. Leon's huge boyfriend had dragged him out with them for some fun. 'Misery loves company', he'd said. Crucially, he hadn't mentioned 'leather bar' or 'COCKtail night'. One day he would learn to stop trusting Jack when he said he knew a great place. Chris always ended up drunk. But that was besides the point. He was in one of the recreation rooms, with something warm and long on top of him. Something warm and long that wrapped around him like a limpet and nuzzled into his pecs. Something warm, long and _blond_.

Chris tried very hard not to scream as Albert Wesker's red-gold eyes blinked open, gazed at him, and promptly went straight back to sleep. No amount of wriggling seemed to detach him. Even when Chris had pinched him to try and startle Wesker off, all he'd gotten was a mumbled, "harder daddy" and that put an end to that tactic sharpish. He wondered how many cocktails he'd had. Hell, he wondered how many cocktails _Wesker_ had had. Under the stink of sweat and sex, he still smelt like pina coladas. God he needed a wash. They both did. The room was terribly musky from whatever terrible things they'd done to each other in a lust-fuelled tango. "Wesker," he hissed, "Wesker, for fuck's sake, get _off_."

Wesker did not get off. Wesker just gripped him harder, mumbling some more nonsense and nestling even closer into his side. God fucking damn it, why couldn't he have been this hard to wake up whenever someone was trying to assassinate him? "'Hubert's fucked up schedule...'m not in..."

"Wesker I swear to god, if you're so drunk you can't recognise me for one of your other paramours I'm going to shove you in a toilet." That seemed to rouse him. Wesker blinked again, eyes blown out into almost human proportions, and he lifted his chin onto Chris' chest. Squinting. "...Chris?"

"Yes, glad to see you recognise me, now _let go_."

Wesker thought about it. He eventually rolled onto his back and moaned, freeing Chris, "I'm never listening to Sergei's drink suggestions ever again. Why does anyone need a god virus when that man can plough through shots like he tempered his liver in a holy furnace-"

"Surprised you have anyone you can come out with," Chris grumbled, legs uncomfortably sticky with cum- Legs, belly, chest, even part of his face. Not that Wesker looked much better. His hair was a crusty disaster, his mouth split at the corners, and there were unmistakable handprints on his hips and waist and thighs. "I didn't _want_ to come out with him. My employers struck a deal, he was the delivery boy for some unimportant shit, then we ended up moaning about Umbrella’s terrible admin together."

"Ugh, great," Chris shook his head and dragged the blankets off the bed with him, making towards the bathroom, "two maniacs in one bar."

"Three, if you count Jack Krauser." Wesker paused, "Maybe four if you count that puppy Ada likes. Have you seen some of the stuff he shoves inside himself? It's like watching a magic show-"

"I don't need to know that."

"Too bad, I had to see it, now you have to think about it."

Chris glared at him. Wesker, absolutely shameless, just _sniffed_. He was looking over himself now, wrinkling his nose at the state of himself (and Chris was maybe a bit warm inside that Wesker seemed to be way worse off) while he tried to rub off some of the dry cum. It stuck to his fingers. He examined them like a curious baker and stuck them right into his mouth, sucking away the refuse. He had two in at a time, tongue occasionally peeking out as he swirled around the knuckles. With his lips still red from the night before- no, stained red, Chris had the faded colour on his chest- it looked very much like he was practising something _else_.

"Are you going to shower, or are you going to ogle me, Chris?" Chris swallowed. Wesker had raised his eyebrows, not even bothering to cover up, length of his body all on display. A terrible, stupid idea formed in his head. "Can I do both?”

"Both?" Wesker said, a smile creeping onto his face, "are you going to keep the door open and shower in cold water, _dearheart?_ " Chris tried to suppress the shiver, crawling like fingers up his spine as Wesker's voice dipped low and purring. Wesker was not taking advantage here. "That's a bit too distant for me." He dropped the blanket and watched Wesker's eyes light up, happily drinking in his nudity, "I like to touch-"

"I've noticed."

"-and I think someone should inspect all those bruises, right? Besides," he let his own perverse smile crawl onto his face, "are you sure you'll be able to wash your own back with all those aches?" Wesker stood up, stepping forwards until Chris could feel his hot breath, the slight shiver of his muscles, even see the smaller scratches his ragged nails had managed to cut into his skin. "Only if I get to do the same."

The hot water was a blessing as it trailed down his aching body, releasing all the tight knots inside him and filling him with a pleasant calm. God, hot showers, was there anything better? _Maybe one thing,_ Chris thought as he watched Wesker step into the shower. His moan was positively pornographic, throaty and vulnerable, as the water sluiced over his lean muscles. Chris wondered if he felt the same thing; the relaxing bliss creeping through him until he was tingling with joy. Even his usually tight face was starting to loosen, a tiny smile curling the split-corners of his lips up, eyebrows easing away from each other. He shut his eyes and sighed, happily, slumping a little. "I don't get to do this enough," he said, letting the water hit his face, "God that's _good_." Really good, apparently. Whatever rush of joy he had was tingling the tip of his cock too, stirring interest and starting to harden, redden. He didn't even seem to notice, too busy purring under the water. "Maybe you should take more time off," Chris said, reaching around his side for the shampoo, "if you spent less time being an asshole you'd have more time for hot showers."

"Current employer is too cheap for hot water in the company showers."

"What about your house?"

"Not in it all that often. Being an asshole is busy work."

"You're so full of it. Kneel down and I'll soap you up, you _reek_ and you still have cum in your hair."

Wesker hummed, but he obeyed. Without so much as a smirk, even, though the sight of him arching his back when Chris ran the cheap bubbles through those blond locks was going to cement itself into Chris' brain forever. He kept the small smile on his face as Chris worked the lather into his scalp, shoulders drooping. It was beautiful, like the sort of thing that should have been in a museum. 'A Quiet Moment Before Regret', oils on canvas, sold for way too much money.

"Want me to wash your back?"

"Mmm...yeah..."

It felt like a tiger had curled into his lap and decided to make friends. Wesker didn't even protest him leaning over, dick brushing his back, to get the shower gel. On it went, smooth over his bruised skin, and that turned into more of the happy moans- dipping and bending to his will, even when Chris' hands slipped down to the bottom of his back. "You sound happy."

"Like I said," he turned around, eyes half lidded and pupils still blown out, "I don't get much time to enjoy this."

"Well- no, I mean like... _this_ ," Chris said, one those gold eyes left him. He punctuated it with a firm stroke over the small of his back, drawing out more happy sighs, "not just hot showers. _This._ Touching. Contact." That made him freeze up, muscles hardening. Chris coaxed them into softness again with warm hands, kneading into his stiff body. He clicked his tongue and dared to go a little further, sweeping over his ass, round his hips, cleaning off all the cum from before. Wesker didn't protest. He seemed happy enough just sitting there.

There was a picture forming in Chris' head, about how hard it must have been to get Wesker to let down his guard the night before, even before they'd gone upstairs. How hard it would be to get him drinking enough to get hungover. Or maybe, how easy it was. When Chris came home from missions he always felt like shit, even if he was doing the right thing- seeing that much death and despair, being a part of it until it felt like you were drowning... Bruises and scratchmarks, huh?

"Say," Chris said, casually, as he continued to move his hands over Wesker's back, well aware that he was sliding over his chest and hips more often, "do you ache after last night?" "A little." "Would've thought your virus would fix that." He tried to keep his tone light, but he was sure suspicion bled through it. Thankfully, Wesker was still in his happy place.

"It doesn't fix things like muscle tension. Or hangovers, apparently." Chris heard the pout in his voice. "And- I swear to god, if you laugh at this, _your_ head is going in the toilet- while that pup with Krauser might take _monster_ cocks, you don't exactly stack up short. And it's- been a while."

"No time?"

"No time." He paused for a moment, nothing but the sound of water rushing around him, "I don't generally trust people to touch me."

"Hmm." There was something in there that Chris wouldn't pry into yet. He was a bastard and a liar, but some secrets were meant to be kept. "Alright. That's all the soap off. You smell way better now."

Like a spell breaking, Wesker's smirk returned, reclad in his usual arrogant armour. He didn't stand though. He just turned around, hands suddenly on Chris' thighs, eye level with his dick. "Pass me that soap."

"Aren't you supposed to wash top-down?"

"Maybe, but I like the view down here." At the dip of his fingers into the meat of his muscles, Chris' breath hitched. God, he'd forgotten how much of a pervert and flirt Wesker could be (though honestly, with a few pieces in place, he wondered how much of it was sincere, how much was fun, and how much was trying to head people off before they pried too deep). "You're gonna make me slip if you decide to start sucking me off."

"Oh no. What a tragedy. At least you'll be coming as you're going." His hot breath tickled Chris' cock, and he seemed delighted when it bobbed with Chris' half-choked laugh. "Corny jokes are _not_ for shower sex."

"But I thought you said I wasn't allowed to suck you off?" Something must have possessed him, because Chris ended up ruffling his hair, making water drip onto his face. It made Wesker sputter, snorting some water out of his nose. "Alright, no more dick at eye-level. I don't trust you."

"I want my breakfast sausage."

"That'll be 4.99."

"I'm so hurt."

Jokes weren't like Wesker. At least, not the sorts he was spitting out now, when he was soft and tired and aching. Chris ruffled his hair again, coming to eye level and waiting, patiently, as he got soaped up.

So the virus didn't heal any aches. Probably deep set aches. And even if his weird virus could heal injuries or stress, Chris doubted it could heal up loneliness or touch aversion. Wesker's hands were blisteringly warm on his skin, taking his time to feel over every ridge and dip and fold. It felt like a blind man touching for the first time. He knew it didn't take that long to clean off, but Chris let him have his fun. Turning his back was a little worrying, but he'd already put his dick in his mouth. Didn't get much worse than that.

Before long he was clean, and the water was starting to run lukewarm. After a brief tangle with some towels, a gargle of mouthwash, and a non-argument over the bathrobe (given that it was too small for both of them), they were left with morning awkwardness. Naked and slightly damp in a cheap room at a club, with no idea when someone would come and tell them to leave. Something had broken in the shower, but those walls were flying up again. After a minute of stealing glances, Wesker made his decision and started to dress. Chris caught his arm before he could get further than pants. "Wait," he started, "that virus- you said it can heal almost anything, right? just not aches?" He looked a little irritated, but nodded all the same. "Why not the bruises?" Wesker blinked. He broke eye contact immediately, setting his voice back to its cold, smug tone. "Having sex with a man just to find out his weaknesses is rude, Chris." And back to the jokes. Smug, stupid jokes, like the night had just been a quick tumble and that moment of truthfulness- "Hey, I was only here because Leon's weird boyfriend told me that drinking alone was kind of pathetic. I'm off duty." He paused. "If you're off, we could...go somewhere more comfortable."

"...Where?"

"Well. There's a nice coffee shop. Or I could treat you to breakfast as payback for the uh, bruises," he swallowed, "you could come and sleep in at my house. I only live a mile or so away."

"...That sounds...suspicious. But...it's tempting. It's very tempting." He finished dressing in silence, finalising the image with his sunglasses, blocking out all emotions. His mouth went back into its usual flat line. "Thank you for the evening." And he was gone. Chris sighed. Worth a try, at least. But if Wesker had a soft and gooey centre, he wasn't giving it up that easily.

Well, no point keeping the room occupied. With a final stretch he went to find his clothes, thankfully no worse for wear (though a bit smelly) and paused. there was a file. A classified file. Marked with UMBRELLA CORPORATION, INT. DOCUMENTS. He smiled.

  
  


Alright, so maybe going into work with classified files and a hangover was awkward. Maybe it was embarrassing as hell. But the information was valuable, to the point that a few bigwigs got excited- they could finally make arrests, form antivirals, really make a difference. His bed was mercifully comfortable as he slid under the covers. It was butter soft against his skin, and having tomorrow off was just a bonus. A creak. A crack. Someone shrugging off what sounded like a heavy coat, and a clink of glasses on his side, before warmth flooded his bed. Chris rolled over, met by gleaming, gold eyes. "You changed your mind."

"You said I could sleep in. You didn't say it would have to be this morning."

"You're being pedantic."

"Hmph."

Without so much as a by your leave, Wesker got comfortable, wrapping around him and mashing his face into Chris' neck. His muscles were tense again. Chris clicked his tongue and wrapped him up in his own embrace, one hand in his hair and one on the dip of his back. "Comfortable?"

"Mhm." Then came the happy sigh, once more, and Wesker relaxed into him. Close enough to snap a pair of handcuffs on. Close enough to kiss. He pressed one onto his temple. And it might've been his imagination, but he swore he felt Wesker smile.


End file.
